i really, really need a place to just scream.
To be in an isolated place, a quiet place, a place where I can be alone with myself, and just therapeutically scream into the distance and have everything be left just as still and quiet and undisturbed as ever.
Some place just distant from everything
where nobody will think I'm getting murdered, where I can't hear the highway anymore, where it's just the earth.
I need to let everything out
raw and ruthlessly and scream until my lungs collapse and my throat burns and my eyes can't see through the glaze and my knees buckle
and earth will still support me as I fall no matter how much I curse it and I can just be it's child for a little while.
I can release my spirit and my melancholia
and my howling can exorcise my demons and make room for the new ones because I'm overflowing.
The trees won't judge me,
nor will the clouds or birds or specs of dirt and rocks or foliage, they'd listen to my cries like a wailing symphony and grow around and ensconce me in peace.
Or the plateau, the clearing overlooking the world would echo it back to me, my final battle with the giant that threatens me every day, and with my breath like a sling shot I'll smite it down for another day.
But there is no good place to scream in New York.
In New York your troubles are binding shadows,
your cries are the immortal reverberations of murders on the night time news
and the overwhelming, unreconcilable empathy for characters and people you are cursed to never know and never truly feel.
There are no good places to scream in New York,
where the world can hear you but you won't be heard, because it is a place that thrives on souls and leaves behind ghosts.
Give me a place to scream at the universe so the universe can hold me again.
Copyright © Rachel Temkin